Brand New Eyes
by SydneyAustralia
Summary: Alice says that their future is foggy. There is a new addition. Everything is changing. RIOT! Sequel.
1. Ignorance

**Chapter One  
Ignorance**

Clyde Freestone looked at his wife of nearly ninety years, perched on a tree limb and staring at nothing with her chin resting on her knees. She hadn't been quiet like this since... the wars. Well, she'd been quiet, but not for this long. He ran up to her, leaping like a cat to sit on the branch next to her.

"How are you?" He murmured. Her eyes flickered over to him, betraying life in her seemingly inanimate body. She blinked her big gold eyes and sinously climbed into his lap, resting her pretty head against his chest.

"I'm... good, I think," She said slowly. He pulled her back to look in her eyes.

"You think?" He repeated, confused.

"Alice Cullen called," She said, still speaking slowly, precisely. "She said... that something was going to happen. That in the near future something is gonna happen to us that makes our futures fractured. Like, she won't be able to get a clear read on our coven. I've been trying to figure out why that is,"

"Are we going to die?" He asked his wife, concerned now more than ever.

"No. She can still see us, but its like she can only see one of us at any given time. She compared it to a 'picture frame that's been shattered'." Clyde nodded thoughtfully.

"Maybe it's nothing. We all know that her visions are subjective. Don't let this worry you,"


	2. Careful

**Chapter Two  
Careful**

Three weeks later, Sydney Freestone paced across the back porch worriedly, looking out over the backyard, towards the treeline and trying to catch her husband's scent through the torrential rain falling down around. Under the covered wraparound porch, she was shielded from it, but he was not.

He'd gone for a quick hunt. Three hours at most. He'd left ten hours ago. He had a watch. He could tell from the sun that it was way past ten hours. Steph and Babs were at school. She'd opted to stay behind, citing that she wanted to wait for her husband.

And then she heard it- straining her ears, she heard a feral roar and a weak groan. And a sickening squelch. And then she was running like her life depended on it, following that sound with the grace of a tracker.

And so she stumbled upon her husband of eighty-six years, viciously lapping at the torn throat of a near-dead human boy. She let out a startled noise, causing him to roar, not even aware of who she was, only aware that he had to defend his kill. His kill. His hunt.

His sinister scarlet eyes tried to shoot her dead with a glare and she came forward, trying to get him away from the barely-breathing boy. A boy who looked so innocent, drenched in rainwater and his own blood, fevered eyes looking at nothing.

And he swiped at her with a bloody hand, ripping four shallow tears in her immortal skin and causing her to let out a strangled howl of pain, and she whirled back. Choreomania would do no good on him- he was too far gone. It would only anger him more. She barreled into his side, trying to force him back, but her little body had barely any effect on his looming frame.

But it did have effect on his temper. He grabbed her then, and she'd never been so scared in her life as she was when his hands gripped her upper arms bruisingly, punishingly. This was not her husband. And his teeth ripped into the skin of her throat. She thrashed, using all of her strength to get away.

She wrestled out of his grip, though not without a price. She half-lay on the ground, looking at her pale right arm that was still clasped in her attacker's grip, still moving to try and get away. And she let out a shocked whimper of pain.

And than noise, coupled by the sight of her broken on the ground like Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas, seemed to shock him out of his state of berzerk rage. He abruptly dropped the arm, and it clawed sickeningly towards its owner, who snatched it up and held it against her shoulder while it fused back together with awful snaps and hisses.

Clyde let out a choked noise, somewhere between a howl of anguish and a sob, trying to find words. He took a step, and without being able to help it, his wife flinched. And then he managed to choke out two words -"I'm sorry,"- before running as fast as he could away.

He had to get away.


	3. Playing God

**Chapter Three  
Playing God**

When he was gone, she heard the human groan again. Was he still alive? She got up, ignoring the scent of his sweet blood permeating the air, and knelt next to him. His throat was half-torn open, scratches littered his skin, and his eyes were shut tight in pain. But she could smell the sickeningly sweet smell of venom in the wound at his neck.

He would change. But, with the small amount, it would be slow. Taking a frantic gasp of air, she took his wrist and bit in slowly, pushing in as much venom as she could without feeling the need to start drinking, and pulled back quickly, running away fifteen feet and spitting the obscenely good blood out onto the dirt, where it washed into the soil with the rain.

And after taking a few new gulps of rainy air, she made her way back to the boy, sealing the wound in his throat with a swipe of silvery venom before she lifted him into her skinny arms and started to run. She tried not to jostle him too much, worried about his neck, and he let out another unpleasant groan, and then a few exclamations of 'fire'.

It tore at her. She made it back to the house without confrontation, and glanced at the big black-and-white clock in the kitchen they didn't use. 3:43. Steph and Babs would be home in mere minutes. She got the boy into the living room, putting his soaking form on the couch, heedless of the spotless velvet apholstery for once in her vampiric life, and hurried to put a blanket over the young man who would soon be the newest addition to their coven.

On her way to the front door, she saw her reflection in the big mirror that covered nearly the entire front wall. She was soaking wet, dripping rainwater onto the hardwood, her hair was plastered to her face, her blouse was torn almost vulgarly across her abdomen and shoulders, Clyde's metallic venom smeared all over the moon-pale skin there, red flecks in her topaz eyes.

She looked like a corpse, all in all. And Clyde was somewhere and he'd attacked her and she was still scared stiff. And to top it all off, she heard the Mercedes coming down the driveway. The emerald green car parked in front of the garage and then Babs and Steph were on the porch before barely any raindrops could touch their immortal bodies.

And then Stephanie had shoved past her, Babs shrieked about her appearance, Stephanie stared at the boy on the couch, grimacing and begging and crying out in pain. "What happened?" The brunette demanded, finally catching sight of her ruined appearance.

And that was when Sydney Lynne Murphy-Freestone broke out into half-hysterical dry sobbing, sinking to her knees on the hardwood floors of her three-story home. "Clyde was late- I went to find him- heard a noise- God, so much blood- he attacked me- ripped my arm off- left- saved the boy- Oh, God-" She shrilled out almost unintelligibly, she was going so fast.

Stephanie, however, had expirience in Sydney's babble, and got the gist immediately. "Where. Is. He?" She ground out.

"I don't know!" Now she was fully hysterical. "It wasn't his fault... He fell off the wagon, but Steph, I had to get him off the boy, and he hurt me, Steph, he hurt me!"

"Hush. Madison, get your sister up the stairs. Now. Get her some dry clothes, stick her in a hot bath, do something. Calm her effing down. And then take care of the guy, stick him in one of the bedrooms, tie him down if you have to. Don't kill him." Stephanie barked out, throwing down her bookbag and jacket, discarding her shoes and taking out the backdoor. "I'll be back."


	4. Brick By Boring Brick

**Chapter Four  
Brick By Boring Brick**

Steph ran through the woods like a predator, sniffing the air to get that... that idiot's scent. She had Sydney's trail, following the daisies and citrus, and trying to find the smoky smell that she needed was proving to be not an easy feat. She kept running until she caught just the faintest whiff.

And then she was running faster, following the trail, seeing a footprint here, a tatter of cloth there... and bingo, she saw him, huddled up next to a tree in a crouch. Nearly two hundred miles from home. A snarl ripped through her body, her lip twisted up to expose teeth.

"Get up," She commanded. He didn't do so, just looked at her with this self-loathing look that half made her want to slit her wrists. "Jesus," She muttered, stalking over and wrenching him bodily up. His eyes were bright, stunning crimson, and his white shirt was stained with that boy's blood.

"Your wife is crying. She's freaking hysterical, looks like a horror-movie zombie corpse, and there's a shrieking human on our couch!" She punctuated each word with a sharp smack to Clyde's chest or face, letting loose another snarl.

"I can't go back to her. I hurt her. She doesn't want me there." He said tonelessly, not looking at her anymore, just looking straight ahead, blankly, like a wooden dummy. "I ripped off my own wife's arm, I tried to decapitate her, I slashed open her stomach like it was a pinata." His voice was gaining emotion now- self hatred.

"Shut up!" Stephanie shouted finally. "So, WHAT? WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE THAT YOU DO NOW, GENIUS? LET HER ROT AWAY HEARTBROKEN FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY? NO, YOU WUSS! YOU'RE GONNA GO BACK AND APOLOGIZE, AND THEN YOU'RE GONNA HELP US SORT OUT THIS MESS THAT YOU'VE MADE!" And then she was towing him along by a vice grip on his forearm, harder-than-steel nails digging into his stone flesh, not taking 'no' for an answer anymore.

Minutes later they were in back of the property again, and he looked up at the big white house with dread. He would have to see that... that terrified look in his wife's eyes again. She'd flinched. He hurt her and she'd flinched at the thought of his touch on her skin. He'd be lucky if she didn't throw him out as soon as he walked in the door.

Or, well, as soon as Stephanie dragged him in the door. Which she did. He heard the boy shouting on the third floor, and Sydney was placed on the chaise with a worn quilt wrapped around her like a shawl and a white nightdress-looking garment. The question of why his immortal, not-needing-sleep wife needed a nightdress crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. That was a moronic question to ask now.

She looked straight ahead, not even blinking, rather reminding him of a kewpie doll. Babs sat on the armchair beside her, looking nervously between him and her sister. "Sydney?" He asked, his voice almost inaudible. She flicked her gaze over to him then, eyes slightly guarded.

And then she stood up, leaving the quilt, and went up the stairs. He got a better look at her dress. It was one he remembered- she'd worn it back in the spring of '69. It brought back nostalgia so strong he nearly choked. Her bare skin blended with the aged white cotton gracefully, and he wanted to cry, if he could.

He deserved this. At least she hadn't flinched or kicked him out. He heard her go to attend his... his victim. He wished he had the courage to follow her. Instead he just sank down onto the chaise where she'd just sat down, looking hopeless.

And all the angst in the house was grating on Steph's nerves.


	5. Turn It Off

**Chapter Five  
Turn It Off**

Sydney mopped up the sweat collecting on the boy's forehead. It was nearly three days now, and his heart was already slowing. She surveyed his face- pale skin, of course, nearly as hard as hers now, sort of light-colored hair cropped short but not buzzed or shaved, and from what she'd seen, his eyes had originally been ice blue.

They'd be red soon, if they weren't already. He thrashed again, and she smoothed her hand over his hair in a slightly motherly fashion. His heart slowed some more. She got ready.

_Thump. Thump. Thump...Thud..._ Nothing. And then crimson eyes flew open and he leapt up, snarling and crouched. She held up her hands in a non-threatening gesture. "It's okay," She whispered, making her voice deliberately soft and more feminine than usual, sounding submissive.

"I'm Sydney Freestone. This is my house. Three other people live here- Stephanie, Madison, and Clyde." She informed him quietly, trying to prepare him to meet everyone, so he wouldn't be surprised.

"Wh-what am I?" He asked, trying to talk through the venom pooling in his mouth.

"A vampire," She replied, nearly tonelessly. "You're a vampire, now," And with that, he started to calm down slightly. Before he realized that his throat was on fire. By that time Stephanie had come in, and they managed to maneuver him down the stairs and out the door.

Sydney watched him for a few minutes while Stephanie made sure there weren't any humans in the near vicinity before they led him out to hunt. The boy, Christian, had a huge appetite and wanted to know, afterwards, why the animals didn't smell overtly appetizing to him.

"Well, because we don't want to kill humans, our coven, along with a few others, drinks animal blood. Human blood tastes better, I suppose, but it just... we stopped." Stephanie explained, trying not to stare at him. It was proving strangely difficult.

Was there something wrong with his features that her brain was trying to decipher? No, she didn't think that was the answer. He was very... well formed, she conceded grudgingly. She didn't find him attractive. No, she absolutely _did not. _Just because he smelled like summer and he had the prettiest face she'd ever seen on a boy did not mean that she found him nearly irresistibly attractive.

Of course not. Sydney noticed this, and despite her sober mood from being attacked by her own husband, her lips quirked into a knowing smile. This was an interesting development. She couldn't remember ever seeing Stephanie looking this... flustered, in all the years they'd known each other.

It was remarkably steadying, that look that she saw in her best friend's eyes. She'd remembered that look from back in the beginning, after the first maddening year was over and it wasn't just about fighting anymore. That look of being in love and not being aware. Or, well, that look of liking someone. She had that look for over a year.

And then they were back at the house again. They always seemed to just come back to this house, on the outskirts of Cheval County, Oregon, a tiny place where the sun appeared nearly as many times a year as in Forks.

Perfect weather for American Vampire living, she thought wryly. And with that, they were inside again and she was in the same place as Clyde again and she didn't know how to feel about that anymore.


	6. The Only Exception

**Chapter Six  
The Only Exception**

Dear God. _This was not happening_, Stephanie Morrigan tried to convince herself. It had been two months. Two months, for the love of all that was holy, since Christian had joined their coven in 'blissful' immortality. Two months since Sydney and Clyde had spoken, and in those two months she'd barely been able to rip her eyes away from that Godforsaken boy!

She was not this kind of... pansy! She was not weak enough for this to happen. She had always sworn that she'd never fall in love. No, she was not in love. Definitely not. She was Stephanie-Freaking-Morrigan, BAMF newborn fighter and she was not susceptible to this kind of lowly, girly thing.

Of course not. She forcibly tore her gaze away, standing up. "I'm going hunting." She growled.

"You just went yesterday," _He _pointed out, raising his eyebrow. She bared her teeth at him and hissed, slamming out the door (possibly ripping it off of its hinges) and running into the woods. And when she was fifteen miles in, she started breaking trees.

Had Sydney been here, she would've spewed her hippy-Woodstock crap all over the place and Stephanie would obviously had been forced to hit her so-called 'best friend'. Repeatedly, and most likely using the thirty-foot-high trees she'd killed to do it. Now that was a plan.

And she wasn't even thinking about Christian. And now she was. Great. Letting loose a frustrated roar, she tore another tree out of the ground.


	7. Feeling Sorry

**Chapter Seven  
Feeling Sorry**

Clyde was in agony. He hadn't said more than a dozen words to the love of his life, who inhabited the same house, in three months. And Stephanie was having a spaz-out all the time and he couldn't demand for her to tell him what to do, and Babs wouldn't do it anyways, not if Sydney didn't want her to, and what did Christian know? He spent all his time swallowing venom, hunting, staring at Stephanie, and watching every single inappropriately funny teen movie in existence.

So, all in all, he was screwed. So he pulled the last trick he had in the book. He made his way up the stairs to where she was shut in what had formerly been he and Sydney's room and was now solely used by his little wife, if that was even what she considered herself anymore, and he opened the door.

She looked up, in the middle of painting her toenails a bright sparkling purple while seated on the big white armchair that was his favorite piece of furniture in the house and was so oversized (so as to accommodate his 'freakish' height) that she looked like a Barbie doll in it.

Raising her eyebrows as if to say 'hm?' She tried to appear indifferent. In truth, she missed him. But she was freaking Sydney Freestone, and she wasn't going to try to make him apologize to her. Even though he'd technically already done so, it obviously didn't count.

But, honestly, she didn't hold what he did against him, too much. And before she could muse on it anymore, he'd dropped to his knees in front of her. She resealed her nail polish and watched him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God help me, I'm sorry!" He exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders gently this time, pulling her closer to him so as to look in her topaz eyes closely, making sure to get his point across loud and clear. "I'm an idiot. I hurt you. I hurt my wife. And I'm apologizing. And I'm asking you, as your husband, to take me back. I want you to take me back, Sydney, because I love you and I want to be with you, and that'll never change." He was speaking in earnest now, and he didn't seem to notice the smile blossoming on her face.

"Well, I would have to reply that it's about time, Mr. Freestone." She whispered. And then she leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, twisting her little hands into his hair. He gave a laugh, picking her up and spinning her around, kissing back with reckless abandon.

"FINALLY!" Stephanie shouted from downstairs. They heard Babs cheering, and Christian chuckling, muttering congratulations 'for doing the obvious'. He let her down then, placing her on her feet carefully so as not to ruin her nails before they dried, and then he went to stretch out on the huge sapphire bed, closing his eyes and just absorbing the settled feeling in the room.


	8. Looking Up

**Chapter Eight  
Looking Up**

Sydney carried six large moving boxes, stacked on top of each other, into the big, weathered blue Victorian house, Clyde carrying twelve boxes right in front of her. Nearly a year after Christian had been changed, and they were moving into a new town, to a new house. Nothing really changed. Oddly, the addition of Christian seemed like it had happened years and years ago.

He fit right into their 'family' seamlessly. Sydney smiled wryly at that, looking with raised eyebrows at the aforementioned young man staring with his physically-eighteen eyes at Stephanie like she was an oracle. And all she was doing was explaining where to put boxes.

Whenever she had the chance to do so without being detected by Steph or Christian, she called Alice Cullen to drill her about the no-longer-hazy future of her resident best friend and new addition. And the girl replied the same thing every freaking time- it was still 'undetermined'. Well, that couldn't be true, because Sydney was aiming to be fitting her friend into a strapless French-silk gown by the end of this year.

So it was obviously not 'undetermined'. Alice just liked being a vague gypsy-vampire. And it was common knowledge how much Sydney detested all things vague (that were not herself). Setting down the boxes in her and Clyde's new bedroom, she turned to her husband and pecked him quickly on the lips before running back out to help (_cough_, spy on, _cough_) Stephanie and Christian.

And when they'd gotten every single box unpacked and the new house looked impeccable, nearly twelve hours later, she was curled up on an antique-looking leather recliner, sketching out dresses that would look good on her friend while Stephanie read a new book, _Ironside_, the boys played Halo 3 or something on the Xbox, and Babs surfed the internet.

If Stephanie asked, of course, the dresses were for herself, as she was planning her own wedding, to be held in the summertime, as it was currently January, and she snuck a peek at her friend, debating whether or not to have pleating at the bodice of the dress.


	9. Where The Lines Overlap

**Chapter Nine  
Where The Lines Overlap**

Christian paced. He hated it when the girls had to go to school. Yeah, he had Clyde to talk to and play video games with, but it wasn't the same. The girls not being around him, where he knew they were absolutely completely safe, made him edgy. And he detested it. He'd asked Clyde about it, and found out that apparently the freakishly tall (6 feet 6 inches, for the love of the Virgin Mary) blonde felt the same way.

And apparently it was a 'male vampire' thing. Great. Now he had the male vampire equivalent to craziness. He especially hated that he couldn't be there because he was a stupid newborn. It had been eighteen months. Granted, he'd only had real human contact once in that time, last month when a delivery guy came to the house, and he'd barely made it the ten minutes it took to get him gone.

At least he hadn't killed anyone, huh? And now Sydney was acting twitchy because she could no longer have packages mailed to the house. She'd received a huge box of what he later found out was different bolts of cloth, in dozens of different shades of white- cream, off-white, pure white, eggshell white, all different kinds.

And then he'd asked her what it was all for and she gave him one of those little-girls-from-the-Shining smiles and said "you'll see" with a big eyed look that reminded him of a stoned owl. And then let out a trill of laughter to rival a horror movie. A cackle that was a giggle at the same time.

So he went to Steph and asked her, staring openly at the brunette with a half smile. "She's planning a new wedding, and putting together dress prototypes, most likely. You've never had to sit through one of her matrimonial affairs. Consider yourself lucky." His 'secret' crush warned, laying on her back half-under her emerald green Mercedes-Benz, tweaking with the engine.

And then, like a shot, there was something... _inside _his mind. He let out a loud, loud scream, clapping his hands over his ears and trying to get away from it. He became aware of Stephanie's voice- he could hear her clearly, despite the... music... wailing in his mind.

"Calm down," She had both hands on his shoulders. "It's just Sydney, calm down," Was this the 'choreomania' he'd heard all about? And as he thought that, the music calmed down, changed into something completely different.

Pulling on his hand gently, she led him into the house and up the stairs, practically kicking Sydney's bedroom door down to find her looking triumphantly at a white silk gown with lace cascading from a tiny bodice, a blue ribbon crisscrossing a half dozen times up the back of the bodice to hold it together.

"Stop it. Now." Stephanie demanded, startling her out of her reverie. And then the music flicked off. Which in turn made Stephanie examine the dress more closely.

"You won't be able to fit into this," She said bluntly. "It's two sizes too small. You're a size two, remember, stupid?" And then a spark flashed, her expression turned stormy.

"You. Didn't." She growled. Sydney's eyes widened.

"No, I didn't." She agreed, pulling the dress and its mannequin back with her, shoving it behind her body to protect it.

"You did," Stephanie snarled, stalking forward.

"Don't take it out on the dress! I got bored, so I decided to make it! I'm not planning anything, I won't do anything, I swear!" Sydney shrieked frantically, begging.

"Fine. But one word out of place, and _I _swear that you'll not be allowed to touch a piece of white fabric for a very, very long time." Stephanie threatened. "Now, put that away." And with that, the blonde was left to her own devices and the brunette had dragged Christian down the stairs again, grumbling about 'insane Barbies'.

"Well, that was interesting." Christian commented with a cheerful smirk.

"Shut up, you." Stephanie said, throwing a fist into his stomach absently, with a sense of affectionate comaderie.


	10. Misguided Ghosts

**Chapter Ten  
Misguided Ghosts**

Stephanie walked down the aisle, the silk rustling along the velvet walkway and the bouquet she carried wafting fresh roses and tulip scents into her face. In front of her Babs walked with a measured pace, her indigo blue bridesmaid dress brushing against her calves with every step.

At the head of the altar was Carlisle Cullen in a solemn black suit, and Christian and Clyde in white, their violet buttonaires and indigo ties tying up the color scheme of the wedding- indigo and white, with 'splashes of subdued purple' in the words of the crazy Barbie.

Behind her walked Sydney, in her long, clinging white dress with its indigo sash tying in a rounded bow at the 'bustle' of the dress and the only color in the entire outfit, from the crisp white veil, white roses tucked into her hair, and pearl choker tied at her throat.

Rosalie Hale looked appreciatively at the wedding party, whispering her comments to Esme and Alice Cullen. Stephanie took her friend's little white rose bouquet and held it next to her own.

Her own outfit blended seamlessly into the ideal. White silk slacks, loose indigo silk blouse with white beaded spaghetti straps clinging to her boyish shoulders and indigo flats peeking out under the pants' cuffs. She always wore pants to Sydney's weddings, and could count on her hands the number of times she'd worn a skirt or dress in the 105 years she'd been on Earth.

Most of those times occurred before she could walk. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the love and union between these two individuals, Sydney Lynne Murphy and Clyde Andrew Freestone."

"Their love is one that has been tested by many trials, but has always shone through even the darkest of days." After that sentence, Stephanie tuned the good doctor out, sharing an amused look with Christian. She swore silently that if her heart could've beat and blood could've rushed to her cheeks, it would have.

Great. That was another thing to worry about, on top of Dumb and Dumber (also known as Sydney Freestone) and her freaking _wedding dress _making. She should've known, what with Sydney going through her clothes to find her measurements and ordering a custom-made dress form to match.

What would she do if Christian found out what that dress was for? She'd probably die. And then come back to life to kill Sydney and then die again. Finally she was startled from her reverie by Christian at her elbow, guiding her back down the aisle behind Babs, on the arm of a short, long-haired blonde vampire boy, who was behind Mr. And Mrs. Freestone.

Now, wasn't the reception just going to be Jim-freaking-dandy?


	11. All I Wanted

**Chapter Eleven  
All I Wanted**

Turning around and around the dance floor led by her 'new' husband, Sydney peeked under his arm to steal a glance at Stephanie and Christian. Steph never really was an adept waltzer... closing her eyes for a second, she gently, gently prodded her friends mind and _suggested _which steps to use.

There we go. But now Stephanie was looking a tad confused at what her feet were doing. Whoops. Clyde chuckled, deducing easily what his wife had done, and he lifted her gently into the air on a turn, bringing her down again equally as gently.

When the song was over, Sydney had an idea. Hustling over to the little stage, she began to speak into the microphone, though they were in a room full of vampires.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, if you would please pay attention, now the fun begins. Bouquet time! All unmarried women, report to the front of the stage, tres veet!" She exclaimed joyfully with a clap of her hands. Humoring her, a small crowd of seven vampire women came to the front of the stage, Stephanie not even looking at the bouquet like the others.

Mentally calculating the trajectory angle with her sophisticated predator brain that she barely ever used, Sydney tossed the bouquet in a perfect arch, where it fell into Stephanie's un-waiting arms. The others congratulated her good-naturedly, and Stephanie just looked sourly at her supposed 'best friend'.

Who was grinning like the effing Cheshire Cat. Wonder why? After hissing instructions into her husband's ear, he flung her violet garter right onto Christian's messy-haired head. Making Stephanie shoot Sydney and Clyde a warning growl. And then, looking at the delightfully confused vampire boy in front of her, she really couldn't find a reason not to do what she had wanted to do for two years.

"Aw, screw it," She muttered, walking over and forcefully kissing Christian on his pink-lipped mouth. "YES!" Sydney cheered, jumping up and pumping her fist into the air. "Getcha bite, whydontcha?" Babs snickered, her 'friend' tightening his skinny-handed grip on her hand.

Stephanie pulled back from the kiss with a raised eyebrow -she could raise it almost as high as Sydney- and primly (as much as Stephanie Morrigan could be prim) wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

"Well, it's about time," He said appreciatively, earning him a simultaneous laugh and smack from the 105-year-old vampire girl.


	12. Epilogue: My Number One

**Epilogue  
My Number One**

Stephanie stood in front of the full-length bathroom mirror four hours before her wedding was supposed to take place. She was just now realizing how much she _didn't _want this. So she slipped out into the corridor and sneakily got into Christian's room, where her soon-to-be groom sat on his bed in a tux.

"I don't want to do this." She deadpanned, and he looked up at her with incredulous eyes.

"You don't want to marry me? Well, isn't it a little late? What'll Sydney say?"

"No, idiot, I do want to marry you, I'm all for that, I'm just saying, this whole church-wedding-white-dress crap isn't for me. So, what do you say we hit Vegas? We can max out Sydney's credit card and go gambling..." With a grin, he kissed her and ran to get dressed while she did the same.

Stephanie really couldn't feel guilty for this. After all, she'd never dreamt of this kind of thing. Well, she didn't really remember what she dreamt, but she knew in good faith that it was not hand-sewn French silk and pearls and roses and 'dearly beloved, yadda yadda yadda'.

So, she climbed into her emerald green Mercedes with her fiancée and tore out of the driveway like the devil himself was racing her. Or at least Sydney.

And while a human dressed up as Elvis married her, Sydney found her friend gone with a hasty note about Vegas and fifty vampires outside waiting for a wedding.

"The bride and groom are gone, but this wedding is not over. Oh, I planned the best wedding, and I'll have the best freaking wedding ever." She muttered to herself, thanking God that Clyde was already in a tux and standing at the head of the aisle as she yanked on one of her old dresses (from 1947) and grabbed Steph's bouquet and veil.

Gliding down the aisle to Wagner's march, she kept her composure as she was gaped at by vampires expecting a stick of a vampire with long brown hair and instead were rewarded with a slightly twitchy blonde with a perky, practiced, time-proven "blushing bride" smile glued firmly to her mouth.

And at that same exact moment, Stephanie stood on tiptoes in her ragged blue jeans and blue 'I Love Vegas' tee shirt, Sydney's own bracelet on her hand and a brand-new sparkly hairbow holding her hair in a high ponytail, kissing her husband for the first time, the fact that she'd just ruined Sydney's meticulously planned schedule making it all the sweeter.

**FIN**


End file.
